


wherever i go (you bring me home)

by WrongSeason



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Fluff, Nicknames, Science Girlfriends, Wordcount: 100-1.000, just pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongSeason/pseuds/WrongSeason
Summary: Mary discovers Marisa has never had a nickname before.Or, Marisa Coulter is soft, change my mind.
Relationships: Marisa Coulter/Mary Malone
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	wherever i go (you bring me home)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I have brain worms and can’t stop thinking about science girlfriends Mary Malone and Marisa Coulter.

“Mars.”

Silence. 

“Mars.”

Still. Silence.

“Marisa,” you lay your hand gently on her shoulder, trying not to startle her. “I brought you tea.”

Extracting her nose from her paper, she takes it gratefully, placing it on her desk before swivelling around to face you. 

“Thank you, _doctor,_ ” she teases, knowing it makes the tips of your ears burn red. You place a hand on her face, rubbing your thumb over her cheekbone softly. 

“You okay? You didn’t seem to hear me.”

“I didn’t realise you were talking to me,” she shrugs a little, taking your hand off her face and cradling it in her own. She presses delicate kisses against each of your fingertips, and your legs wobble at the tenderness. She taps the paper. “It’s good. It’s always good. You’re brilliant.”

You sit yourself in her lap, press a kiss against her temple and allow yourself a moment of softness. At first standoffish with affection, you notice she now craves your casual adoration. She’s never the one to initiate, but she’s stopped flinching every time you reach for her. Stopped dropping your hand every time you walk past someone else on the street. You’d call her out on it if you didn’t fear her rejection. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a nickname before,” you joke, tilting her jaw up to ghost your lips against hers. She chases, tangling fingers in your curls to pull you close again. 

“I may or may not have…” she deflects, but her expression is shy and her voice is quiet, and she could never really get away with lying to you anyway. 

You kiss her again. Chaste and saccharine sweet, and hope she knows you’re saying _I love you._

“Well now you do. And as long as you’re stuck with me, you’re stuck with that.”

A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth, and you kiss that spot too, unable to help yourself. 

“I like the sound of that.”


End file.
